


A Fell Flame

by Valyanamie



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, No Angst, Well ok a little angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyanamie/pseuds/Valyanamie
Summary: Three times Aegnor visits Ladros, each time swayed to return because of the sweet eyes of a mortal woman.





	A Fell Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot longer than I intended for it to be. Hope it’s not long-driven.

The first time, Finrod had looked at him questionably, his grey eyes sharp and narrow. There had been a shift in the air following Aegnor’s request, an odd sensation that was not in its entirety bad but not pleasant either. His brother looked at him as if he was half mad, as if Aegnor had said something _absurd, _and alike a mockingbird, Finrod promptly answered his question with another question: 

“_Why_?”

Aegnor shrugged and Finrod’s gaze softened. Relief washed over him as he felt the tension that had risen in the air dissolve. Unfortunately, that was not a proper answer, for his brother pushed onward: “Never before have you asked me about the Edain or their culture, why do you wish to meet them now?”

Again, Aegnor shrugged. The proper answer would be _curiosity_, but Aegnor would rather walk through Thangoridrim than admit that. His pride might be vastly lesser than his cousins’, but it blossomed in his heart still, and he was a flame although a fell one. Finrod had always showed strange fondness for the Second-born, ever since he stumbled upon them during the first rise of the sun and to the present day still. Often would he speak of their snarky wits, nimble tongues and blatantly dark humour; praise their culture and dances and songs. He would speak of them with great care and love in his tone, and each time Aegnor could never bring himself to quite understand. 

So he was curious, curious to see whether they proved to be as enlightening as Finrod oh so painted them to be; curious to see whether their dances and songs were truly worth his brother’s praise. In curiosity, he had kindly asked Finrod whether he would be allowed to join him on his common visits and if the answer was no then it was settled. He had asked once and he would not ask again. Aegnor would not beg.

Times were growing darker. Finrod could feel it just as much as he, and although neither one of them said it, the whispering threat of death drew ever nearer. Many Elven lands had already been sieged by the Enemy, and it was only a matter of time before all would fall under the Dark Lord’s shadows. Aegnor feared it would engulf them. Finrod did too. 

Clearing his throat, he added: “You have given them land in the Norteast of Dorthonion, have you not? Ladros, was it? If I am to be neighbours with them and fight with them, mayhap die, would it not be for the best to remain on good terms?”

Finrod paused, sparkling eyes wide, and blinked twice before cracking a sly smile. He said nothing, but Aegnor felt somewhat fooled – as if Finrod had read him aloud, could tell he had lied, and knew exactly the truth that spiralled through his mind. He could feel his brother’s teasing comments rather than hear them, and had to bite down the flush that threatened to rise in his cheeks. Whether Finrod saw this or not he did not say, for he simply offered a curt nod, bowed his head, and said that they would leave before the crack of dawn. 

That night, Aegnor hardly found the strength in himself to sleep. His mind wandered to distant lands, shores he had once known, and back to times he ached to return to. The stars brought no comfort as they so often did, even as he sat upon the polished, stone railings of the balcony and stared at the vast, open sky; golden hair bathed in precious moonlight. In the distance he heard a laughter as sweet as gentle spring, but when he turned his gaze to the courtyard below he found that it was empty, and frowned, deeply caught in the troubles and wonders of his thoughts. 

Dawn came swiftly, and yet Aegnor felt as if an eternity had passed whilst he had stared up at the night sky. The shadows of autumn whispered mellowly in the air, gracing the atmosphere with slithering frost. It had not rained that night, but the earth was damp and cold beneath his feet, and a light fog graced the woodlands in mist. It took a long time for the sun to fully rise. By the weight in the air Aegnor could sense that winter would come swiftly this year, and it would be a grave and bitter season. His bones ached at the thought of it.

Angrod rode gracefully by his side, often offering light conversations to ease the boring roads that only seemed to stretch onward. Aegnor would say that he was grateful, but he liked the silence, and often wished Angrod would leave him be to delve in its comfort. 

He only offered his full attention when Finrod turned, sharply breathing in the frosty air before speaking: “Whatever ideas that have been implanted into your minds of the Second-born you may keep, but this I say: I have great love for the House of Bëor, and deep fondness that I cannot express into words. I have watched many of them pass and go, held them in my arms as infants and their hands as they drew their finale breaths in this world. Their lives are quick, on the surface they might not appear so meaningful, but they can touch your souls in such ways I never imagined a person could, and in ways one can never forget. Most of them have known me since their yearly youths, and to me they are as children, and at times I think of them as my own...”

Ah, Finrod had always longed for children. He had always been exceptionally good with them as well, not alike Aegnor, who seemed to never have control of them. Whenever a baby would be placed in his arms it would weep, and children never appeared to have any hint fondness towards him. At times, Aegnor wondered whether he would ever have children of his own, and whether they would hate him as much as others seemed to do.

There was silence for a short while before Finrod continued, this time his words more directed at Aegnor than Angrod, much to Aegnor’s wounded pride:

“Think all you want, but mind your tongues. They are not fell beasts or wild animals as many of the Elves depict them to be; and never have I met a savage or damned man who is the House of Bëor. It is your choice whether you would judge them from careless lies, but this I tell you: If you are to mock them, you mock me in return, and I would rather have you gone than speak ill to those I hold dear.”

He had spoken his words lowly, sternly, each note a _warning_. It left a sharp intimidation hanging in the air, echoing as distant falls, but it only made Aegnor more curious. 

They at last reached Ladros by the time dusk settled. The clouds in the sky were in deep hues of roses and lilacs, and the trees in the distance were like sharp shadows upon the rich canvas. The houses in the distance were not many, some larger than others, but they had all been been sturdily built, at some places carved decoratively; and from inside there streamed warm firelight. Aegnor could already feel the heat upon his skin, and only then seemed to realise how cold it truly was. 

Life seemed to alight in Finrod at the sight of the men’s dwellings, and with not a word to either of his brothers he urged his mare to hasten towards them. Angrod laughed at his brother’s sudden outburst, but he laughed not in mockery but awe. Aegnor could see that people were already exiting their houses at the sound of heavy hooves, and called or hollered in outmost delight at the sight of their lord and old friend. 

Aegnor felt out of place.

He approached them with a slow and steady pace, studying each and every face with curiosity. He recognised none of them, and they were nothing more to him than strangers. He had visited the Edain with Finrod only once before, but that had been years ago, and none remained left of the people he had met then. A strange feeling settled in his stomach at the thought of that. 

He was ripped from his thoughts when he heard the call of his own name, and in surprise raised his gaze to see that Finrod was pointing at him with a bright and wide smile. A hard man with kind eyes stood beside him, grinning warmly with both hands rested upon his hips. Angrod was already chatting with someone who appeared much younger, and Aegnor felt envious of his brothers’ ability to bond so quickly. “My youngest brother, Aegnor, he who is called a fell fire.” Finrod said and Aegnor tried not to blush, unsure whether he was being praised or mocked. 

Slowly, he slid down from his stallion, feeling overwhelmed by all the wide, staring eyes. But the man who stood beside his brother simply grinned widely, and whilst approaching him offered a calloused hand. Aegnor shook it. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lord Aegnor.” He greeted, voice low and rough. “My name is Boromir, and I am the newly assigned lord of Ladros.”

Boromir looked strong enough, but age was evident in his features, to the silver in his hair and the wrinkles by the corners of his eyes. He was the chief, this Aegnor could see, for his clothes were more carefully sewn than others’, and he wore an emblem on his tunic with the sigil of the House of Finrod. 

His brother beamed proudly by his side, and with the wave of his hand urged the man that spoke heartedly with Angrod to come as well. He did so quickly, as if he was eager to obey the Elven-lord that had come for a visit, and arrived within seconds. The man was much younger than Boromir, his hair dark with not a touch of grey, and green eyes still kindling with youthful light. “This is Bregor,” Finrod said, clapping the young man’s back affectionately. “Son and heir to Boromir.”

Boromir nodded, scratching his beard with a chuckle: “Aye, he is. When my time comes and I’ll be buried off somewhere seven feet under the dirt this bluffing fool will take over. We must all hope and pray he won’t mess things up more than I have.”

A low rumble ignited through the air as people all around laughed, even Finrod, but Aegnor could not pinpoint what had been so funny. He only laughed with them to not mock them, and hoped no one could hear the strain in his voice. 

They were invited to dinner. 

Aegnor could, at the very least, say he preferred the Edain way more than the Eldar. There was no stern formality, no straight postures or apologetic coughs, not the sound of utensils scraping against porcelain or glass that would drive one mad. The people ate freely, laughing and joking as they stuffed food into their mouths; drinking ale and wine as if it was the last day of their lives. Aegnor supposed that it might be so for some, as he warily eyed the old man in the corner, who looked as if he would buckle down any second now. 

Bregor was watching him, followed his gaze with curiosity, and burst into laughter that sounded hearty and pure. Aegnor flushed, feeling ashamed for having been caught: “There is no need to worry, friend.” The young man was quick to assure him though, visibly biting down a smirk as he took yet another sip from... whatever he was drinking. “We are not easily insulted.”

Aegnor nodded, softly clearing his throat as he took another bite of his steak. The meat was tender and the sauce that went with it sweet. In the times they lived in, Aegnor was surprised they had anything good to eat at all. “You must forgive me, I am not... _familiar_ with the Edain and your ways.” 

Bregor smiled widely, “there is nothing to forgive, my lord,” he said, leaning back into his chair. He looked quite attractive doing that, the waves of his dark hair falling before his eyes, casting the earthly greens of his irises into mysterious shadows. Aegnor was sure that he was considered handsome among his own people, and when the time would come he would sire sons that would grow up even fairer. Bregor smirked: “I would be worried if an elf-lord knew too much...”

Aegnor’s eyes widened, and it took him a moment to realise that it had been a joke, and when he did he laughed genuinely. His laughter must have been loud, for many eyes turned to stare at them fondly, yet Aegnor felt not even the slightest embarrassed. Perhaps it was the wine that was getting to his head...

He felt content. For one night, he could forget the terrors that soon needed to be faced, and the darkness that crept to the land...

Then, the lord Boromir arose, and silence fell quickly. Raising his glass and casting Finrod a warm smile he said: “Today, we celebrate the visits of our old friend Finrod, and his two brothers the lords Angrod and Aegnor.” A cheer broke over the crowd of people at the finish of the sentence, some even slammed their mugs against the table, and the sound of their hollers and rhythms rung through the halls as music. “We drink in celebration, for the time we have been given and the blessings that will come. The war will end, I can assure you all, it _will_ end! And when that time comes we shall celebrate even louder! But for now, we sincerely hope that you friends will enjoy your visit here, as we enjoy your company.”

Finrod nodded respectfully, bowing his head in out last respect, but Aegnor flushed. He knew not why but he felt sad, and troubles stirred in his mind. There was a dark feeling in his heart, and as he looked over the crowd he feared that there would come a day when such celebration would be no more, and the hearty people that made up the House of Bëor become lost to the world. But as he looked at all the staring faces, he realised something he had not noticed before, and in confusion turned to Bregor to ask: 

“Where are all of your women?”

Bregor frowned. “Women?”

Aegnor’s eyes widened in worry. _Oh_. “Is that not what they are called? Am - am I mistaken? Oh –“ he visibly paled. “Oh, do you not have-? I’m sorry, I thought—“

Bregor snorted, silencing Aegnor with a wave of his hand. “I’m just jesting, friend. We do have women, no worries, but they do not dine with us. Not that we do not permit it, but they would rather eat with each other rather than with us.” He grinned. “They say that we are loud, dirty and messy – and too often drunk to even stand. Well, I can’t say that they are entirely wrong...” his voice trailed off, then he shook his head and smiled. “I have two sisters. Finrod told me that you have a sister of your own?”

Aegnor spent the rest of the evening telling Bregor of Galadriel, and the troubles they got themselves into during childhood. She never fitted much with him and Angrod, but she did try, and often whined when they refused to play with her because of her gender alone. Looking back, Aegnor realised how irrational they had been, and could forgive her for not wishing to spend much time with them now in their adulthood; preferring the company of the Grey Elves and their mystical Queen. 

By the end of their conversation, most people had already gathered themselves away to bed, and the dining hall was mostly empty; save for his brothers and Boromir. Bregor rose up with a yawn and stretched. Staring out the window, at the waxen moon that was mostly concealed by heavy clouds, Aegnor guessed that it must have been close to midnight.

“Good night to you all,” Bregor bid them, cringing when his father came to plant a kiss upon his cheek. He lightly pushed Boromir away with a faint smile, and in sadness Aegnor was reminded of his own father who still dwelt in the land of Undying. He watched the young man leave until his figure had disappeared through the doorway, and only then turned away with foreign softness in his heart.

Boromir smiled, “your room as been left untouched since the last time you came here, friend,” he said to Finrod, clapping him on the back. “And your brothers’ are assigned next to yours. Can you?-“

”I can show it to them, yes,” Finrod answered, but before Boromir could leave he asked: “Do you think Andreth is still awake? I wish to speak with her.” Boromir paused, seemed to be thinking for a moment, before nodding: 

“Yes, I would assume so. She hardly sleeps these days. Feel free to speak with her all you want, she enjoys your company, though I know not why...” He laughed when Finrod lightly slapped him on the arm and continued to laugh even as he left, leaving nothing but empty silence when he was truly gone. Aegnor felt curiosity get the best of him, and turning to Finrod he asked: 

“Who’s Andreth?”

His brother smiled. “She is Boromir’s eldest daughter and younger sister to Bregor. I saw you speaking with him at dinner, I assume things went well?” Aegnor nodded, recalling his conversation with the young man. 

“He was kind... He did tell me that he had two sisters, but he did not tell me their names.” 

Finrod nodded. “Two sisters he has indeed, and now you know that the eldest is called Andreth. The Sindar call her Saelind.” 

_Andreth_... Aegnor thought to himself, and wondered why the name tugged at his heart so. 

Again, he found himself restless that night. The bed was soft, the sheets comfortable, but he felt not the heaviness of sleep burdening his bones, and thought back to the hundreds of other nights he had been left aching and awake in his sorrows. Slipping from his bed he went outside, pulling his cloak tightly around himself so that the cold winds would not bite his skin. His mind strayed to darker times, back when there had not been grass beneath his feet but hard ice, and their people would drop down dead upon the freezing wasteland. Some they tried to carry, others they had to leave. 

Still he could hear the screams, the moans and broken cries. He saw before himself withered fingers, blackened by frost, and remembered how they had crumbled beneath his touch. During his youth he had not minded the cold- now he hated it. 

He knew not where he was walking, only that he walked far. Staring up at the sky, he gazed longingly at the stars, the shimmering, white embers that twinkled and sang. They were the same as they had been in Aman, and yet so different. A deep ache spread through his chest at the thought of his home, threatening to tear his heart apart. He was reminded of his mother’s smile, her warm hands and soothing scent; the noble and valiant tales she would tell him before bed. He wanted to cry but found that no tears fell. He had wasted them all long ago.

Then, he was startled into stillness when he heard the sound of flowing water, and followed it hearteningly as a child caught in excitement. Soon enough the woods grew thinner, and at last he reached a clearing where there stood before him a lake; bathed in soft moonlight, reflecting the holy stars so flawlessly that he felt the deep urge to dive beneath the glass-like surface. 

Slowly, as if he was caught in a trance, he approached it in delight. 

His steps were soundless in the whispering night. When he at last reached the waters, he bent down to lightly touch the surface, the tips of his finger hovering above it in fear of stirring the peaceful waters, and ruining the perfect image upon it. The stars was alight as white fires, shimmering splendidly, all of them fair and sweet. He named each one he could remember, traced every constellation that they made, until his mind turned dizzy at the infinite numbers. For a moment, he was lost in time.

Lost in the wonders of his own thoughts, he began to sing. It was a song his mother had once loved; a song his father had long ago strung. He sang of Alqualondë, of Tirion and Valimar and their great, white towers that stood tall and proud. He wondered whether the cities were still the same, whether they stood unchanging as time continued to shift and break. Whether –

Whether his mother and father still thought of him; and whether he would ever return to them again.

When he finished the tune he felt that all excitement had faded, and sadness had returned. The stars did not seem so bright anymore and with a sigh he stirred to leave. But only when he moved to rise up did he notice the reflection of a face that did not belong in the night-sky, and his breath became caught in his throat. 

Turning around swiftly, he stood up to stare down into the eyes of a person. 

A _woman_. 

She was more than a head shorter than he, and smiled up at him sweetly with kindness twinkling in her eyes. They were not green as Bregor’s but brown, perhaps they would even turn amber when caught in molten sunlight, and they were oh, so young...

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to intrude... You sang so beautifully, I could not resist but halt and listen,” she said, smiling sheepishly, her voice wrought with delight and slight regret. “I hope you have the strength in you to forgive me.” Aegnor would forgive her a thousand times, and he found himself unable to turn away from her eyes. The night-gown that she wore was thin and white, and she stood barefoot upon the damp grass. Aegnor wondered whether she felt cold, and then worried for her poor, little toes. 

Without a word, he offered her his cloak. 

She laughed lightly – a laughter he had heard before – as he draped it over her shoulders, noting how the weight of it pulled her slightly. “ Thank you. Never have I met an Elf as caring and kind as you, my lord.” She bowed her head, laughing more loudly when he smiled at her in return. “Are you not afraid of catching a cold?” 

Aegnor opened his mouth to speak but knew not what to say. What _was_ there to say? Elves did not become ill as Men did and could endure through harsher climates than they, surely she knew that? Was she teasing him?

But he _did_ fear the cold, and felt rather sheepish for it. Before him stood a woman, much smaller and frailer than he, who seemed to fear neither the frost or the threat of sickness. Her hair was dark and unbound, it fell down to her waist in splendid waves, and he found himself lost in the stars that reflected in her eyes. She was young, with still the spark of innocence in her spirit, and there was no darkness in her soul – no darkness at all...

In half a trance he asked for her name. She told him it was Andreth. 

Then she began to speak, and he prayed that she would never cease.

_Tarn Aeluin_, she called the lake, and on every night alike this one it would reflect the night sky. She told him that whenever she grew restless she would come and seek for its comfort, reflecting her own thoughts upon the starry surface and forget the burdens of time. She said that she did this every night, and that this was the first time she had company. 

Aegnor tried his very best to ignore how his breath got caught in his throat whenever their eyes would meet. 

They spoke for some time more before he walked her home. For her age, he was surprised to find that she had many tales to share, and he listened each one sincerely; not knowing why his heart fluttered so violently in his chest. Her voice was soothing, it rung as kindling brooks or mellow breezes, and he desperately craved the sound of it whenever she fell silent. When they did at last reach the door to her room he found himself feeling sad, although he knew not why.

Andreth’s smile was warm as she returned him his cloak, and her skin was soft as they fingers brushed when he took it. He ached for a longer touch. “Thank you for accompanying me home, my lord,” she whispered, bowing slightly so that the hem of her gown brushed the ground. He felt the strange and sudden urge to bend down and cradle her face in his hands. 

A thought came to his mind, of him snatching her away and riding far from the creeping dangers and threats that could do her any harm. He wanted to hide her from all the sorrows of the world, keep her sheltered far away and as his own. He knew not where the thought had come from, but he was deeply disturbed by it, and wondered whether there had been something strange in the wine he had drank earlier. 

“Goodnight,” he said instead, his voice a whisper in the air, and only when she shut the door in his face did he feel the cold again. Shaking his head, he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and tarried away back to his own room, feeling even more restless than before. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, another story. This one actually has a confirmed ending (tihi). 
> 
> Andreth and Aegnor remain to be one of my most favourites couples in Tolkien’s works. I have written about them before, but I felt the urge to write again.
> 
> I sincerely hope you will all enjoy reading this <3


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